AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Good to know, Nathan.” Bennett had forever been correcting people when they shortened his name, so he got that. But this snarky, lazy, disrespectful attitude was getting old superfast. Was this what his mother had put up with when he was that age?
A resoundingyesclanged through his mind. Bennett had been the chief of disrespectful teenage boys, so this might be exactly what he deserved.
Bennett waited for another moment, puzzling over how to handle this. If he’d been Nathan in this situation, the more anyone demanded he do something, the deeper he’d dig in his heels. He glanced at Gemma, whose brow furrowed with a pensive stare at her brother. Then at Hazel, whose cool gaze might have been read as indifference if Bennett didn’t know her better. But he did. She cared. She just wasn’t going to allow Nathan the victory of knowing he could alter her course of action.
And there was the solution. As if a silent understanding had passed between them, Bennett nodded at Hazel and then started toward the county jail again. What was Nathan going to do if he didn’t come with them? He knew no one. Knew how to get nowhere. Couldn’t take off with the Bronco because Bennett had the keys. And Bennett suspected that Mama Bulldog had spied on the entire scene from the moment Bennett had parked. She’d keep an eye out.
Nathan could stay there by himself if he wanted. It really didn’t make a difference.
When the group reached the county jail building, Jeremy gestured to the narrow dirt road that would lead north from Main, and they turned. Gemma glanced back, and Bennett could sense the tension in her already tight shoulders knot harder.
He leaned down to speak low. “He’ll be fine. Maybe he just needs a minute by himself.”
Gemma looked up at him, her copper eyes filled with worry.
Bennett squeezed her into a gentle hug. “There’s not a whole lot here for him to get into trouble with, you know?”
“He could start a forest fire.”
“Did he bring a match?”
“Umm . . . I don’t think so. That probably wouldn’t get through airport security.”
“Then I doubt it.” Bennett winked. “My guess? He’ll wander after us the moment he realizes he’s alone in a place that is very, very big, and very, very wild.”
“Will he get lost?”
Bennett shook his head.
“Mama Bulldog has her eye on him, I can promise.” Hazel’s comment drew both Gemma’s and Bennett’s attention.
Though shocked that she would voluntarily speak to a stranger, Bennett felt gratitude rise. Hazel was trying, and he could kiss her for it.
Later, he would.
Jeremy Yates continued to lead the trio without comment until they came to a small, two-story, Victorian-style house. Though brick, it appeared to be in rough shape. The second floor—likely more of a loft area than an actual second floor—had been sided with peeling, jaundice-yellow gingerbread shake siding and was in grave need of new paint. Possibly, to be replaced altogether. But the roof appeared sturdy, and it was on a good-size lot that backed into a grove of aspens.
Bennett guessed that the main level was no more than nine hundred square feet. It’d be tight.
“This is three bedrooms?” he asked.
“Yes. Well, I’ll let Leslie go into that with you.” Jeremy waved them to the front door. “She’s inside.”
Releasing Gemma’s shoulders and Hazel’s hand, Bennett let the girls pass through the heavy wooden front door that Jeremy held open, and then followed.
“I’ll catch up with you guys later,” Jeremy said.
“Thanks for being our guide.”
“Not a problem.” Jeremy cast a leery glance over the house. “Hope this works.”
Bennett doubted that Jeremy would worry except for the fact that he knew Bennett was a property investor who tended to have an expensive eye. But he didn’t know that Bennett had grown up a whole lot more humbly than he’d lived as an adult. He could adjust. Probably.
The last thought fizzled as he stepped into the dingy home. Army-green carpet—torn in more spots than could Bennettcount on one hand—smothered the floor. Hopefully, beneath it there would be wood planks in decent enough shape to restore. The woodwork panels that came to chair-rail height had been stricken with Pepto-pink paint. The stairs, tucked into the far corner of this dark and bizarre front room, had also endured the merciless whims of a paintbrush—though that jaundice yellow from the front had been the weapon of choice there.
“Don’t panic.” Leslie Yates appeared from the large, wood-framed opening—sporting that awful yellow color—that must have connected to another room in the back. The kitchen? “It’s a spectacle in here, but the bones are solid. You do flips, right?”
Bennett nodded, trying not to scowl. “Not usually when I live in them though.”
